


Just You and Me and Your Dead Boyfriend

by aldiara



Category: Alles was zählt
Genre: Bring Back The Porn Challenge, Dialogue Heavy, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fingerfucking, Humor, Post-Loss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 09:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15861303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aldiara/pseuds/aldiara
Summary: “Jennifer Steinkamp, you total perv. Are you asking me if I fantasise about my dead boyfriend when I have a wank?”-“Well, yes. I didn’t think I was being unclear.”





	Just You and Me and Your Dead Boyfriend

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, this pairing is... questionable. Fear not, much of this fic is actually about Roman, lol. I also haven’t watched the show in years, so while I know that these two really are currently together, I have no idea about their actual dynamics or current canon. I was going for crack, but some feels snuck in. Stupid feels. 
> 
> References to past death/loss of a lover.
> 
> Big thanks to Alsha for the quick beta!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Do you miss him still?”

Jenny didn’t mean to bring it up quite like that, but there’s something about the aftermath of sex that tends to bring this out in her, a sort of post-coital self-destructive impulse. Other people enjoy their afterglow with a cuddle or a fag. Jennifer Steinkamp blurts inappropriate questions. Extra points if the answers fuck up her head.

Deniz turns his head on the pillow to look at her. “What the hell?” There’s a slight sheen of sweat on his skin still. A moment ago his face was relaxed, but now his tone is sharp and his dark gaze wary.

Jenny rolls to her side to face him and props her head on an elbow. Her thighs are sticky and she can still feel the slight tingle of aftershocks, the pleasant, sore throb from when he was inside her. “It’s just a question,” she says lightly.

Deniz frowns. “And a very weird time to ask it. Where did that come from?”

“Why don’t you just answer?”

The frown deepens. “It’s been seven years, Jenny. Of course I still miss him.”

He says it flatly, as if there’s no divide between those two statements. As if it’s obvious, as natural as breathing. It takes a moment to register. She holds her breath a bit too long and lets it out in a rush, oddly relieved. 

“You never say.”

“What? Bullshit. We talk about him.”

“Yes, sure. In-jokes. Prosecco toasts. _Roman would’ve liked this shitty musical because Hugh Jackman’s in it_ , and _Roman would kill me if I let you buy that shirt._ ”

He snorts. “More like, _Roman would kill me if I ever dated Jenny_.”

“If he didn’t die laughing first, maybe. But no, what I meant is, yeah, we talk about him but we don’t talk about missing him. Not really.”

“Perhaps because it bloody goes without saying? What is this, Jenny? Are we really gonna play twenty questions here?”

“Don’t know. I haven’t counted them. Do you ever think about him when we fuck?”

Deniz visibly startles at that. “What? No. Of course not. God.”

She watches with interest as a flush spreads slowly across his pale skin, all the way to the top of his chest. “It wouldn’t be that weird,” she says, and then, because she never could resist temptation, “I think about your dad sometimes.”

“WHAT?!”

She keeps her features as straight as she can, but the perfect horror in his face is too much and she bursts out laughing. He swears viciously in Turkish and rolls half on top of her, tickling her until she squeals. “You unbelievable bitch!” But he is laughing too now, the odd tension broken.

Jenny comes up gasping, gripping his wrists. “Stop that, you asshole. Oh my god. You should have seen your face!”

He shudders, then drops suddenly, nuzzling against the place where her neck meets her shoulder. “Please tell me you don’t really.”

She grins, running her fingers through his hair. “I don’t really.” She walks her fingers down his neck, across the wide span of his shoulders. “Do you, really?”

“What, think about my dad?”

“Funny, loser. Do you think about Roman?”

He stills against her, but he doesn’t seem as wary as before. “Not while we fuck, no.” There’s a long pause during which he eventually resumes rubbing his face against her neck, a slow, affectionate nuzzle, unselfconsciously sweet. One of his hands has come to rest against her flank and his fingers spread, slowly, spanning her ribs.

He clears his throat. “I do think about him when I’m alone, sometimes.”

“Yeah?” Jenny keeps on stroking him, running her hands over his shoulder blades, down his back. “Do you do more than think? Do you touch yourself?”

He huffs a warm breath of laughter against the side of her neck. “Jennifer Steinkamp, you total perv. Are you asking me if I fantasise about my dead boyfriend when I have a wank?”

“Well, yes. I didn’t think I was being unclear.”

Deniz laughs again and shuffles closer, sliding one leg between hers. She notes, with interest, that he’s not entirely soft anymore.

“Just checking. Okay. Yeah, sometimes I do.”

“What do you think about?”

“What, like, in _detail_?”

“Yes, in detail – do you need me to spell everything out?”

“If you want me to answer, you can’t play coy with the questions.”

“Fine. What do you think about him doing to you? Specifically?”

A shrug. “Sometimes it’s just little stuff. Like, the way he’d kiss me. Always really bossy, but in a sweet way, you know? The way his eyes crinkled when he smiled. The way he’d tilt his head sometimes when we were – you know, during – and just look at me. Just… watching me, really intent, like he couldn’t look away. I never knew what he was seeing when he did that.” He swallows. “I never asked.”

Jenny suspects she could answer that question for Roman, but she doesn’t. There is a loveliness about Deniz in the throes of passion that is captivating, but it’s his own lack of awareness that makes it so endearing. 

She holds herself still, and makes sure she doesn’t alter the motion of her stroking hands. These are not the details she was asking for, but she is uncomfortably aware of the privilege of hearing them. These are his treasure-moments, a private vintage of well-aged pain, each sip still sweet and strong.

She feels Deniz’s lips curve suddenly against her neck. “Other times I think about his nipples.”

Jenny blinks at the complete change of tone. “Did you say his nipples?”

“Well, yeah. Those things were awesome. One time we were in this club and I made him come just by sucking on them. They were incredibly sensitive.”

“Oh, yes. I know.”

“I never thought I’d be so turned on just from – wait, what? How do you know?”

His head has shot up and he is staring at her. Jenny deliberately leers at him. The almost comical expression of alarm dawning on his face is delightful. 

“You didn’t!” he sputters. “You absolutely haven’t! He’d have told me if you two ever-”

She huffs and rolls her eyes. “Fine, we didn’t. Doesn’t mean I never tried.”

“Oh, thank fuck. Wait, what? You tried to seduce Roman?”

“Stop clutching those pearls, it was before your time. It was after Marc broke up with him-”

“ _Marc_ ,” growls Deniz, wrinkling his nose, and she swats at his arm.

“-don’t interrupt – and I tried to cheer Roman up. Or distract him, whatever. He was getting very boring with the moping. But he didn’t go for it.”

Deniz snickers. “He wouldn’t take you over _Marc_?”

“He always did have shitty taste.”

“Pot, kettle.”

“Touché. But enough about that.” She squirms a little, slides a thigh against his. “I’m sorry about the nipples.”

“What? Jenny, your nipples are fine.”

“Excuse you, my nipples are fucking _flawless_. I meant sorry you miss his nipples. That sounds weird. You know what I mean.”

“Amazingly, I do.”

“Hah hah. Tell me more about how you touch yourself when you think of him.”

“Uhm…”

“Do you miss being fucked?” 

“Jesus, Jenny.”

“Well, do you?” She walks her fingers like tiny dancers down the staircase of his vertebrae, towards the dip at the small of his back. 

He twitches a bit under the feathery touch. “…Sometimes.”

“Interesting.” Her hands are on his arse now, cupping him close. He is definitely stiffening against her belly. She reaches one hand between them, coating her fingers in the residual slick between her thighs. He gasps when she reaches around him again, dipping her sticky fingers in the crease of his arse.

“Fuck.”

“That was what we were talking about, yes. More details welcome.” She circles a finger around his rim, just lightly. He feels tight, but at her fluttering touch, there is a twitch, the slightest hint of loosening.

Deniz laughs, a strangled sound. “I am not telling you more details about Roman fucking me.”

“Oh, so it _was_ him doing the fucking.”

“We switched it up. Jenny…”

“Relax. I already know you like this.” She’s fingered him before, but mostly as a way to make him come harder, to amplify things when he was already inside her. Not like this, a leisurely tease of her fingertip, coated in her own come. Increasing the pressure slightly, gradually, until she feels him opening enough so she can ease in a fingertip. He gasps, instinctively thrusting his hips, and clenches around her finger. The motion draws it in deeper.

“Do you fuck yourself, then?” she murmurs, twisting the finger, trying if she can get a second one in. She can. “While you think about Roman?”

“Some…times.” Deniz sounds strained, almost pained, but his hips are moving less hesitantly now, finding a rhythm. His head is buried in her neck, one arm wrapped all the way around her, pressing her up against him. The hand that was on her flank has moved to cup her breast, his thumb circling her nipple. He is pressing restless kisses against her neck, her shoulder.

“How many fingers do you use?” She’s moved her other hand between them, sliding it between her thighs. Teasing herself slowly open, she moves against his thigh, against the sharp curve of his hipbone.

“I… two or three. I think.”

“You think?” He’s loosened some, but he’s still very tight around her fingers. There’s something thrilling about touching herself and touching him, the difference of the tissues, the push and clench from two different perspectives. As if she’s fucking him and herself at the same time.

There’s less resistance to the third finger. It slides in easily and Deniz moans, a long, drawn-out sound.

“Sometimes I use a toy. No, don’t stop,” he begs when she stills for a second, thinking of the box under the bed. “This is good. I don’t want to stop.”

“Yeah?” Jenny resumes the motion. The angle is slightly awkward on her wrist but she is inside him now as far as her fingers can go, and he’s moving sweetly to it, making small desperate noises on every inward slide. She curls her fingers and he lifts his head with a hoarse cry, canting his hips into the touch.

“There?”

“Yeah. Fuck. Yeah.” His mouth comes down on hers, panting and soft, kissing her desperately. Jenny kisses back, dirty and deep, thrusting her tongue in rhythm with her fingers. Her hips are pushing up sharply now, the building tension almost throwing off her momentum. She tries to focus harder on him, on rubbing the small, swollen nub inside him that is driving him crazy. She can feel his hard cock sliding on her stomach, the wet trail it’s leaving on her skin. Close now. So close.

She nips at his lower lip and murmurs against his mouth, “I really need to get a strap-on.”

Deniz sucks in a breath and thrusts against her a little harder. “Do you like that idea?” she asks, twisting her fingers. It turns out she can fit a fourth one, which makes the angle easier. “Deniz?”

“Fuck. Yes.” He sounds absolutely shattered. They’re both sweat-slick, and he is open to her now, impaling himself on her fingers with sharp, jerking strokes.

“I think I’d like it too,” she tells him, low and throaty. “I could get in nice and deep. Put you on your hands and knees and really let you have it. Fuck you until you beg me to let you come.”

“Please, Jenny…”

She pushes into him, deep enough that she gets an inkling how, if they had more lube and a better angle, maybe he could take more than just her fingers. “Not yet. We’ll get one of those dual-purpose ones, you know, with a clit stimulator? I could come while I fucked you. Probably more than once. I’d be dripping on your arse while I was still inside you.”

“ _Jenny._ ”

She arches, her fingers flying on her clit, her other hand curling again, rubbing hard on his prostate. “Okay. Now.”

He comes with a strangled cry, without a single touch to his cock. Warm spurts land on her belly, her tits, her chin, even. It smears between them when he flops down on top of her, utterly boneless.

Jenny herself comes almost quietly, her entire body pressed up against his in a strong, taut arc. Her body, ingrained with skater memories, still delights in performance; in pushing muscle, bone and tendon to the very edge, making of every physical exertion an exercise in strength and grace.

By contrast, Deniz sprawls unselfconsciously and gracelessly, interested only in sloppy kisses and admiring the mess they’ve made. Which is easy for him, since the lion’s share of mess is all over Jenny.

“I need a shower.”

“Mhm.” He seems in no rush to let her go, finger-painting circles of come around her breasts. “That was… different.”

“I can turn my hand to most things.” She wriggles the hand in question at him.

Deniz grins, but there’s a tiny frown between his brows. “You know I’m happy with the way we make love, right?”

Jenny rolls her eyes. “Well, yes, but why not branch out if it’s something you like? Unless you _didn’t_ like it, but…”

“… evidence says otherwise, yes.”

“I meant maybe you don’t like it from _me_.”

He swallows. “I do. Very much.”

“Well, then.” She frowns, a thought crossing her mind. “Do you think _he’d_ mind?”

To her surprise, Deniz laughs, a rich burst of genuine mirth. “Have you _met_ Roman? He’s probably munching popcorn and watching right now. Cackling his head off.”

“There’s a disturbing image.”

“Schatz,” he says, pushing an arm under her neck and gathering her in, “you’re the one who started asking questions.”

“True,” she concedes, and lets him pull her close. Perhaps the shower can wait a bit longer.


End file.
